Here are the people who didn’t believe I should have been arrested: Maxine; India; JB du Rone’s mom; Pastor Jimmy Fullenwilder; Calvin; Bethany Zanelli, coach of the high school softball team; and at least seven others. I had to feel touched that they’d bothered to call to express their feelings, even though I’d been in jail and it had been possible I’d never get to hear their encouraging messages. I wondered if I should write a thank-you note to each caller. My grandmother would have.
As I listened to Kennedy Keyes’s voice telling me Sam had said I shouldn’t come in today and I should rest, I could see by the counter that I had only one more message. A man’s voice came on. I didn’t recognize it. He said, “You had no right to take away my last chance. I’m going to make sure you pay for it.” I looked at the number. I didn’t recognize it, either. Was I shocked at the determination in his voice? Yes. But I wasn’t surprised. I know how people really are. I can hear their thoughts. I couldn’t read the brain of someone who’d left a phone message, but I know intent when I hear it. My anonymous caller had meant every word he’d said.
Now it was my turn to make a phone call. “Andy, I need you to come out here and listen to something,” I said when he picked up his cell. “You may not want to, but if I’m in danger, you gotta protect me, right? I didn’t lose that when I got arrested?”
“Sookie,” Andy said. He sounded massively tired. “I’m on my way.”
“And do me a favor, okay? This is weird, and I know you won’t want to do it, but you tell Alcee Beck to clean out his car. I’m pretty sure there’s something in his car that shouldn’t be there.” I’d had so much time to think in jail that I’d remembered a little flash of memory: Alcee’s car parked by the woods. The odd flicker of movement I’d seen from the corner of my eye. The fact that Alcee was so insanely determined I be arrested and charged that I’d thought,
It’s almost like he’s under a spell.
That seemed like such a good fit, I was sure it was true.
Though Sam hadn’t wanted me to come in the day I was released
from jail, I went in to work the next morning. On one level, it was such a normal thing to do that my preparations felt quite ordinary. On another level, since I’d spent part of my jail time thinking I might never get to walk back into Merlotte’s again, I was nervous about making a public appearance after facing such an ugly allegation.
Andy Bellefleur had listened to the threat on my answering machine and taken the little tape with him. I’d wished I’d been smart enough to make a copy before he drove off. I hadn’t needed to ask him if he’d conveyed my request to Alcee Beck. I heard from his thoughts that he hadn’t, that he was already in bad with Alcee because Andy’d maintained they shouldn’t arrest me, while Alcee had bulled ahead with the charges. So there was something I’d have to take care of myself.
After Jason’s account of Sam’s agitation at my arrest, I’d expected a big welcome back to the bar. In fact, I’d expected Sam would call me the night before, but he hadn’t. Now, seeing him behind the bar, I smiled and started over to give him a hug.
Sam looked at me for a long moment, and I felt the conflict rolling off him. If fireworks had been exploding out of his brain, he couldn’t have been more lit up. But then his whole face shut down, and he turned his back to me. He began polishing a glass furiously. I was surprised it didn’t shatter in his fingers.
To say I was hurt and bewildered would be understating by about a ton. I didn’t think Sam was exactly angry with me for being arrested, but he was angry about something. Though I got hugs from all the bar staff and at least six customers, Sam avoided me like I was Typhoid Mary.
“Jail isn’t catching,” I said tartly, the third time I had to pass him to pick up plates from the serving hatch. He had turned away to examine the list of emergency phone numbers as if there were some new information on it that had to be memorized in the next five minutes.
“I . . . I know that,” he said, biting off whatever he’d been about to say. “Good you’re back.” An Norr came up to get a pitcher of beer, and that cut our conversation off at the knees . . . if you could call our exchange a conversation. I went about my business, but I was fuming. Not for the first time, I wanted to know what Sam was thinking, but since he was a shapeshifter, I could only feel that his thoughts were dark and frustrated.
That made two of us.
On the plus side, if any bar patrons were scared of being served by a woman who’d been arrested for murder, they didn’t act like it. Of course, they were used to Kennedy, who not only had been arrested for killing her abusive ex-boyfriend but had actually done both the killing and the time to pay for it.
Sam was practically running a work-release program.
Somehow, thinking about Kennedy made me feel better, especially since she’d been one of the kind people who’d come to court the previous morning. Speaking of Kennedy (if only to myself), a couple of hours later she came in with her honey, Danny Prideaux, in tow. As always, Kennedy looked as if she’d just arrived at a hotel to check in for a pageant weekend: groomed from head to toe, wearing a turquoise and brown tank top and brown shorts. Her turquoise sandals boosted her up another two inches. How did she do it? I marveled at her.
After pausing for a moment so her entrance would register (something she did quite by habit), Kennedy crossed the floor to wrap her arms around me in a ferocious hug, which was a first. Apparently, we were now sisters under the skin. Though the comparison made me uncomfortable, I could hardly be holier-than-thou—so I reciprocated the hug and thanked her for her concern.
Kennedy and Danny were there for a drink before Danny went to his second job as daytime guy for Bill Compton. Danny met with Bill every other night, he told me, to get his orders and report on the results of his previous days. Today, he’d be over at the house to let in some workmen.
“So Bill keeps you busy?” I said, trying to think what Bill would need Danny to do.
“Oh, it’s not bad,” Danny said, his eyes fixed on Kennedy. “I wasn’t working at the builders’ supply today, so I’m meeting the security guys at the house to show them where Bill wants the sensors put. Then I’ll wait while they do the installing.”
It struck me as funny that Bill was getting a security system. Surely humans needed intruder alerts more than vampires did? Actually, I might look into that when Claudine’s bank was cleared to resume business. Getting a security system wasn’t a bad idea.
Kennedy started talking about the bikini wax she’d gotten in Shreveport, and Danny’s new employer was banished in favor of this more interesting topic, but the next idle moment I had I caught myself wondering if Bill’s security system meant that he’d had some trigger event to suggest he really needed one. Since he was my nearest neighbor, I ought to know if someone had tried to break into his house. It would be all too easy to get so wrapped up in my own multilevel troubles that I forgot other folks had troubles, too.
Also, I was curious as hell. And it was a relief to think about something besides being an accused murderer and breaking up with my boyfriend.
Kennedy said, “What’s your vampire got to say about this murder charge, Sookie?”
Her timing couldn’t have been more perfect.
“Apparently, he put up my bail, but I think that was just for old times’ sake,” I said. I looked at her directly, so she’d get the message.
“Sorry,” she said, after a moment’s absorption of my message and the depth of my pit o’ breakup misery. “Oh, wow.”
I shrugged. And I could hear Kennedy wondering if I’d go back to Bill Compton now that I’d lost my second vampire lover.
Bless her heart. Kennedy just thought like that. I patted her hand and moved on to another customer.
I grew tired, really tired, by about seven o’clock. I’d outstayed the first shift and was well into the second, and on this Tuesday night the crowd was thin. I went behind the bar to talk to Sam, who was fidgeting around in a very un-Sam way.
“I’m gonna go, Sam, because I’m dead on my feet,” I said. “That okay?”
I could see the tension in his body language. But he wasn’t angry with me.
“I don’t know who pissed you off, Sam, but you can tell me,” I said. I met his eyes.
“Sook, I . . .” And he stopped dead. “You know I’m here if you need me. I’ve got your back, Sook.”
“I got a real nasty message on my answering machine, Sam. It kind of scared me.” I made a wry face to show him I hated being such a chicken. “I didn’t recognize the number it came from. Andy Bellefleur said he’d look into it. I’m just saying that what with one thing and another, I’m grateful that you said that. It means a lot. You’ve always been there for me.”
“No,” he said. “Not always. But I am, now.”
“Okay,” I said doubtfully. Something was really eating at my friend, and I had no way to pry it out of him, which normally wouldn’t be a problem for me.
“You go home and get some rest,” he said, and he put his hand on my shoulder.
I scraped up a smile and offered it to him. “Thanks, Sam.”
It was still broiling hot when I left Merlotte’s, and I had to stand by my car for a good five minutes with both the front doors open before I could bear to get inside. I had that icky sensation of sweat trickling down between my butt cheeks. My feet could hardly wait to be out of the socks and sneakers I wore to work. While I waited for the car to cool—well, to become less hot—I caught a flash of movement from the trees around the employee lot.
At first I thought it was a trick of the sunlight bouncing off the chrome trim on my car, but then I was sure I’d seen a person in the woods.
There was no good reason for anyone to be out there. To the rear of Merlotte’s and facing onto another street lay the little Catholic church and three businesses: a gift shop, a credit union, and Liberty South Insurance. None of them were likely to have customers who would opt to wander in the fringe of woods, especially on a hot weekday evening. I wondered what to do. I could retreat to Merlotte’s, or I could get in the car and pretend I hadn’t seen anything, or I could dash into the woods and beat up whoever was watching me. I considered for maybe fifteen seconds. I didn’t think I had enough energy to dash, though I had plenty of anger to fuel a beating. I didn’t want to ask Sam for anything; I’d asked him for so much, and he was acting so odd today.
So, option two. But just to make sure someone knew what was happening . . . and I didn’t get any more specific than that . . . I called Kenya. She answered on the first ring, and since she knew it was me calling, I saw that as a good thing.
“Kenya, I’m leaving work now, and there’s someone out back skulking in the trees,” I said. “I got no idea what anyone would want to do back there—there’s nothing besides Sam’s trailer—but I’m not going to try to handle that on my own.”
“Good idea, Sookie, since you ain’t armed and you ain’t a cop,” Kenya said tartly. “Oh . . . you
aren’t
armed, are you?”
Lots of people had personal handguns in our neck of the woods, and just about everyone had a “critter rifle.” (You never knew when a rabid skunk would come up in your yard.) I myself had a shotgun
and
my dad’s old critter rifle at home. So Kenya’s question wasn’t out of left field.
“I don’t carry a gun with me,” I said.
“We’ll come check it out,” she said. “You were smart to call.”
That was nice to hear. A police officer thought I’d done something smart. I was glad to reach the turnoff into my driveway without any occurrence.
I picked up my mail, then went to the house. I wasn’t thinking about anything in particular. I was still excited about the prospect of eating my very own food, after the indescribable slop we’d gotten in jail. (I knew the parish didn’t have a big budget to feed prisoners, but damn.)
Despite my eagerness, I looked around me carefully before I got out of my car, and I had my keys in my hand. Experience had taught me it’s better to be wary and feel ridiculous than to get conked on the head or abducted or whatever the enemy plan of the day might be.
I flew up the steps, crossed the porch, and unlocked the back door quicker than you can say “Jack Robinson.”
A little fearfully, I went to the answering machine in the living room and pressed the button to listen. Andy Bellefleur said, “Sookie, we traced the call. It came from a house in New Orleans owned by a Leslie Gelbman. That mean anything to you?”
I caught Andy at work. “I know several people in New Orleans,” I said. “But that name means nothing to me.” I didn’t think any of them would be placing a hate call to me, either.
“The Gelbman house is up for sale. Someone had broken into it through the back door. The phone was still hooked up, and that’s what the caller used to leave that message. Sorry we didn’t find out who said that stuff. Did you recall any incident that would make that message mean something to you?”
He actually sounded sorry, which was nice. My opinion of Andy wavered back and forth. I think his opinion of me did, too. “Thanks, Andy. No, I haven’t thought of anything I’ve ever done that could be construed as taking away someone’s last chance.” I paused. “Did you give Alcee my message?”
“Ahhhh . . . no, Sookie. Alcee and I aren’t on the best of terms right now. He still . . .” Andy’s voice died away. Alcee Beck still thought I was guilty and was in a snit because I’d been released on bail. I wondered if it was Alcee I’d seen out in the woods around Merlotte’s. I wondered how violently he felt about me being free.
“Okay, Andy, I understand,” I said. “And thanks for checking on the phone call. Give Halleigh my best.”
After I’d hung up, I thought of someone I should call about my present predicament. Jason had told me he hadn’t gotten an answer when he’d called the part-demon lawyer Desmond Cataliades. I got out my address book, found the number Mr. Cataliades had given me, and punched it in.
“Yes?” said a small voice.
“Diantha, it’s Sookie.”
“Oh! Whathappenedtoyou?” This was said in Diantha’s rapid-fire delivery, the words blurring together in her haste. “Yournumberwason-Uncle’scallerID.”